You can send for the

At Pat's suggestion, Milo packed only his razor and a few toiletries, a few
days' worth of underwear and socks, a couple of shirts and a few books. As an
afterthought, the old soldier suggested adding the fine, strong padlock from off
the moneybox chain, saying that such would be useful for the securing of issue
lockers in the barracks. Milo threw in a wad of handkerchiefs, then closed and
locked the thick briefcase which was the sole piece of luggage of any
description he owned.

It was while he was packing that Rosaleen bore up the stairs to his room a
picnic basket packed well-nigh to bursting with food "for your journey, love."

Reopening the briefcase, he managed to make room for but three of the thick
sandwiches. But then Rosaleen took over, emptied the case and repacked it so
competently that she was able to add two more sandwiches, a slab of

cheese and a half-dozen hard-boiled eggs, a small jar of pickles and a brace of
red apples.

"Do you have a pocket knife?" inquired Pat. When Milo shook his head, the old
man dug deep into his pants pocket and brought out an old, worn, but razor-edged
Barlow. "A soldier needs him a good knife, Milo; I don't, I can't even see good
enough to whittle no more. Mrs. O'Shea, she'll be damn glad I give it to you,
she's plumb sick and tired of fixin' up my cut fingers as it is.

"I'll pack up the resta your clothes and things, Milo, and put them in a old
cedar chest is up in the attic with some mothballs, too. You can send for them
whenever you wants them, see."

"No, Pat, thank you, but no," Milo told him. "Sell them for whatever you can, or
give them away. One thing, though. Rosaleen, can you find me a legal-sized
envelope and a sheet of blank paper?"